


Some Guys Have All The Luck

by strangeandcharm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Whump, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-30
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandcharm/pseuds/strangeandcharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cave, a wendigo, an angel with no powers. What could possibly go wrong? Quite a lot, actually…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set towards the end of season five, but nowhere specific. I _did_ want to address something from the finale, however – who taught Castiel about lying to make someone feel better?

  
**Notes:** Contains lots of juicylicious whump and grumpy!Cas. I watched the _House_ finale – in which they collapsed a building on top of some poor lady – and all the way through I was thinking, “Wow, I wish that was Castiel.” And so this happened. *facepalm* I do not claim to be original in any way, no sir…  


 

 

~ ~ ~

 

“I can’t go in there.”

Dean stopped dead, turning to face him. “Aw, c’mon, Cas. Don’t tell me angels are claustrophobic.”

Castiel pulled an annoyed face and nodded at the cave entrance. “It’s protected.”

“Protected how?” Dean glanced back at the side of the mountain. He couldn’t see anything except undergrowth and granite. As far as caves went, it looked fairly innocuous – serial-killing wendigo occupant notwithstanding, of course.

Castiel shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled, looking bizarrely petulant. “There’s an anti-angel sigil guarding it. I can feel it from here. It’s designed to rob any heavenly entity of their power the moment they set foot inside the cave.”

“So if you go in there...”

“...I effectively become human.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, baffled. “Since when do wendigoes use mystical sigils? How can they even understand stuff like that?”

Castiel wrinkled his nose. “It’s far older than the creature living here, Dean. The sigil is left over from another time. This cave doesn’t feel natural – I suspect it was made by a demon many millennia ago.”

Dean had to erase the sudden mental image of a demon in a miner’s helmet tapping away at a rockface with a pickaxe. “Super,” he announced sarcastically. “So we’ve got a murdering monster living in a pitch-black cave system that I’m gonna have to go in and explore on my own with no back-up. This job sucks. Did I ever mention that I always wanted to be a lumberjack?”

Castiel ignored him, still glaring at the cliff. “If we could find the sigil we might be able to destroy it.”

“Any idea where it would be?”

“To work properly, anywhere within a two-mile radius.”

Dean let out a breath. “And how long would it take you to find something like that, exactly?”

“I could find it in the next five minutes or in five days. There’s no way of knowing.”

“On Wednesdays I’d go shopping and have buttered scones for tea,” Dean sang bitterly under his breath, pulling out his flashlight and checking it worked. “Okay, looks like it’s just me, then. No way can we wait that long for this bastard to show itself again. Too many people are dying.”

“Perhaps you’ll be lucky enough to meet up with your brother and the Sheriff in there,” Castiel informed him, his voice filled with awkward-sounding hope.

Dean shot him a look. “I’m not crossin’ my fingers, Cas. I think that rumor about a second cave entrance was just that – a rumor. I doubt they’ll find anything on the other side of this peak.”

“You should call them. Advise them of the change in plans.”

Dean stared into the cave. According to the records he’d dug out of the library with Sam the day before, its rocky tunnels stretched way back into the mountain, far deeper than its exterior would suggest, providing the wendigo with a perfect base. It had killed six people in the last three months, all of them no doubt stored somewhere underground in the creature’s smelly larder. Dean had found himself ‘stored’ like that once himself, and he was anxious not to repeat the experience. He ran a finger down the side of his flare gun and sighed.

“You call them,” he told Castiel. “But I’m going in. They’re too far away now and we’re wasting daylight. Just watch the exit, okay? If I end up chasing it out into the open, at least you’ll be here to kill it. And unlike me, you’re not gonna need any gun. Just unzip yourself from that meatsuit for a few seconds and you’ll roast it alive with your scary glowiness.”

Castiel nodded, but he looked distracted. Dean knew him well enough by now to know when he was pissed, and he was definitely pissed about having to stay behind. “Hey, it’s not your fault, Cas,” he said, feeling his annoyance. “These things happen.”

“Be careful,” Castiel instructed him seriously.

“It’s one wendigo, man,” Dean shrugged. “How dangerous can it be?”

Pretty damn dangerous, as it turned out.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Contrary to what Dean had been expecting, it didn’t jump him in the dark. It waited until he was standing in a section of the cave that had a hole a few feet wide in the roof, allowing a sunbeam to streak across the rocky chamber in what was a welcome break from the darkness. Dean stepped into it, grateful for the daylight after two hours of wandering around with just a flashlight to see by, and the wendigo had been waiting for him to do just that.

It was a creature of shadows, but humans always moved into the sunlight. It knew that. It was very old. It knew its prey well.

From nowhere, claws raked across Dean’s side and he hit the floor with a yell. The gun slipped out of his hand as he collapsed onto his knees and the wendigo kicked it across the cavern until it hit the far wall. Dean could only spare it one glance before the creature flipped him onto his back and sat on his chest _hard_ , hard enough to force the air from his lungs and render him immobile for a few seconds, but he recovered with admirable speed. He socked it across the jaw and shoved its chest as hard as he could while it was still off-balance, almost throwing it off his body, but the wendigo dug its grubby fingernails into his biceps to pin him down instead. Dean stared up at its hideous array of teeth, felt the unsettling heat pouring off its leathery body, smelt the stench of dead things on its breath and all he could think was, _I’m supposed to be Michael’s fucking vessel and THIS is what’s gonna kill me? This is embarrassing!_

Stung by the thought, he bucked upwards desperately, and by some combination of luck, frantic twisting and physics he managed to knee the creature in the crotch. The wendigo hissed and fell backwards, clutching at his groin. Dean couldn’t spare a second to gloat; he rolled onto his hands and knees and scrambled for the gun as fast as he could. But somehow his opponent got there first – they moved like lightning, he’d forgotten that – and a foot landed square in the middle of his chest and kicked him several feet backwards. He landed on his back directly under the sunbeam and flinched, dazzled, throwing a hand up to shield his eyes.

A shadow blocked the light. Before Dean could summon up any kind of defence, a hand was shooting downwards to claw at his neck–

And then the wendigo jerked and clutched at its chest. Dean had just enough time to roll away and climb to his knees as it staggered forward and roared in pain, looking up to see Castiel standing behind it with his arm outstretched. The angel pulled back his arm to reveal a bloody knife clutched in his hand, but he didn’t have time to use it again as the wendigo spun round and knocked him sideways, sending him ricocheting into the nearest wall. Castiel slammed against the rock with a grunt but straightened quickly, turning to face the creature again with his blade outstretched and a look of focused determination on his face.

It was futile: a knife was no match for a wendigo that could only be killed by fire, and Dean snapped out of his shock as he realized he had to get to the flare gun. He lunged toward it, determined to kill this bastard before it eviscerated both of them – Dean’s brain was thankfully working fast enough to figure out that it could really do that, because in order for Castiel to be in the cave, he had to be under the sigil’s influence and therefore human. But the creature suddenly froze in place and hissed, staring up at the ceiling, before turning tail and disappearing down the nearest tunnel at a rate of knots.

Dean stopped to gulp in a breath. He swiped a hand over the clawmarks on his ribs, ascertained that the injury wasn’t serious and glanced across at Castiel, who was staring after their prey and panting a little.

“We need to go after it,” Dean declared.

And then a shower of stones and dust fell from above his head, a tremendous roar filled the cavern and one-half of it collapsed on top of them.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The first thing Dean saw when he came to his senses was dust.

The second thing he saw was the wendigo. It was reaching down to grab his leg, clearly convinced he was unconscious and ready to be dragged into its lair. Dean had other ideas. He yanked the flare gun in his hand out from beneath a pile of stones and aimed it, but the creature’s reflexes were faster than his and it was gone before he could fire.

Dean dropped his hand, panting, still disorientated from the noise and chaos of the collapse. His head was pounding and he could feel warm blood on the back of his neck from the rock that had knocked him out, but he was alive and in one piece and that was all that mattered. There was a motorbike-sized boulder beside him that hadn’t been there a few moments ago; one corner of his bag poked out from beneath it. That could have been him. _Shit._

Wincing, he sat upright and dislodged a waterfall of rubble and pebbles from his body, watching as the dust flew into the sunbeam that was still shining steadily into the cave. The collapse hadn’t made the crack in the rock ceiling any bigger, but it _had_ blocked one of the tunnels. The only one that was still clear was the one the wendigo had just retreated into. _Gotta keep an eye on that,_ Dean thought ruefully, climbing unsteadily to his feet and surveying the rest of the rubble-strewn cave in amazement.

There was a new rockpile at least ten feet high in the corner where Castiel had been. Dean stared at it in horror for at least ten seconds before he found his voice. “Cas?” he croaked out nervously, coughing as dust hit the back of his throat.

“Here,” Castiel croaked back, and Dean felt a wave of relief that actually made him break into a sweat.

“You okay?” he called.

“No,” came the succinct reply.

“Crap,” Dean muttered, and started to make his away across the cave, clambering over loose rocks and shingle and sending up vast plumes of dust. The air tasted of earth and iron. “Are you buried?” he asked, scanning the pile of stones before him vainly for any sign of his friend.

“What do _you_ think?” Castiel grunted, sounding as though he was on the verge of losing his temper. The grumpy response made Dean blink in surprise, but it allowed him to pinpoint where the voice was coming from.

He peered over a large boulder and his jaw dropped at what lay beyond. Castiel was lying on his back with only his head, shoulders and one arm free; the rest of him was hidden beneath layers of rocks, rubble and earth several feet high. There was no sign of his lower half at all, and the rockpile grew higher and, worryingly, heavier as it reached where his legs should be. Dean scanned the debris with an appraising eye and deduced pretty quickly that it was going to be a bastard to clear: there were too many boulders heavier than one man could lift, all balanced precariously in a game of jackstraws that could send the whole lot tumbling down on top of Castiel’s head if Dean made the wrong move. It was a miracle his top half had escaped unscathed as it was – if the rocks had fallen a few inches in another direction, Castiel’s brains would be mush by now.

Instead, his face was covered in earth-colored dust and his eyes were wide and bright as he stared up at Dean. He didn’t look as though he was in pain. He just looked really, thoroughly, _devastatingly_ annoyed.

“Hey,” Dean said, climbing over the boulder and kicking away some stones so he could kneel by his side.

“I thought you were dead,” Castiel said unexpectedly, his expression changing to one of relief. “I couldn’t hear you breathing.”

“How long was I out?”

“Long enough.” Castiel lifted a filthy hand, the only one that was free, and for a moment Dean thought he was going to squeeze his arm or something. Instead he simply wiped blood out of one eye and dropped it to the ground again.

Dean looked at the blood and raised his eyebrows. “So I take it from the fact that you haven’t zapped outta here yet that the sigil made you human?”

“The sigil wasn’t strong enough to remove all my powers,” Castiel returned with what sounded like forced calmness. “I can only assume its strength has faded a little due to its age. But it has weakened me. I can’t extricate myself.” He coughed, the movement sending debris sliding off his chest. “If I were fully human, I suspect I would be dead by now.”

Dean contemplated that for a few moments. Castiel was right; the weight on top of his body was too major for anyone to survive. His legs must be smashed to pieces under all that rock. He was trapped, but it could have been a lot worse. “Does it hurt?” he asked tentatively, because while Castiel seemed okay, it just didn’t seem possible that he couldn’t feel _something._

Castiel hesitated before replying, “I’m… extremely uncomfortable.”

“No shit.” Dean looked up at the rocks again. “I’m not sure I can dig you out of here, man, but I’m gonna give it a try.”

“I would appreciate that.”

“I need to call Sam first. The Sheriff can bring help.” He pulled out his cell and stared at the screen, praying for a signal. Nothing. “Dammit.”

“Perhaps if you… get higher up,” Castiel advised him, his voice hitching a little. Dean shot him a worried look, but Castiel’s gaze was steady. He must have had dust in his throat.

“I’m going to climb up to the hole in the roof,” he explained, and placed the flare gun in Castiel’s free hand. “I need you to watch my back, okay? That sucker’s still out there and you need to keep an eye on the tunnel in case it decides to finish us off. And don’t miss if it shows itself.” Dean cocked his head to the side, realizing that his companion could be at a disadvantage with one arm pinned. “I hope you’re not right-handed.”

Castiel lifted the gun and frowned at it. “I hope so, too.”

His hand was shaking. Dean tried not to think too hard about that as he turned away, scanning behind him for any sign of the wendigo before he rose to his feet and started walking around the cave. He held his phone before him and stared at the screen, willing it to work, but it wasn’t until he scaled a pile of rocks near the opening to the tunnel and waved the phone right under the crack in the ceiling that it suddenly flared into life. “Eureka!”

When Sam answered he sounded out of breath. “Dean? Are you okay?”

“Not really. We need your help over here.”

“There was a cave-in, wasn’t there?”

Dean paused. “Where the hell are you? You heard it?”

“We couldn’t find the other entrance so we were walking round the mountain to come and join you. Everything shook – it was like two trucks had crashed into each other. Are you hurt?”

Dean explained what had happened as quickly as he could, fearful that the signal would disappear again. “We need some kind of rescue crew down here, something big. I can’t get Cas out by myself. But that wendigo’s still runnin’ around, so this isn’t going to be easy.”

Sam huffed into the receiver, making Dean flinch. “Okay, I’ll see what we can rustle up. Good thing the Sheriff’s on our side – that’ll help. Where are you, exactly?”

“I marked the route as I walked,” Dean said. “It’ll lead you right to us. Part of the cave’s open to the sky but the hole’s only about two feet across and nobody could get through it.” He paused. “Be careful, Sammy. This son-of-a-bitch is a tricky one.”

“Yeah, they always are. Look, keep checking in every half hour, okay?”

“Will do. And Sam? Hurry.”

Dean pocketed the phone, cast a look around the cave and clambered back over the debris until he reached Castiel. The angel was staring at the tunnel but he lifted his eyes to Dean’s face as he dropped down beside him. “How long?” he asked, licking dust off his lips.

“As long as it takes. You’re gonna have to hang on for a while longer, Cas, but help’s on its way.”

Castiel nodded, looking relieved. He was sweating, perspiration tracing patterns through the grime on his face. “How’s it going?” Dean queried, twisting so he could talk to him and keep an eye out for the wendigo at the same time. “Can you feel anything?”

“I can feel… pressure,” Castiel explained, glancing down at the rocks hiding his body. “I don’t think I want to feel anything more than that.”

“Yeah, I’d say you’ve got a point there.”

“There’s something digging in my side. I must have landed on a stone.” Castiel frowned, biting his lip, before adding, “It’s very distracting.”

Dean sniffed. “Only an angel could have an entire cave fall on them and call it ‘distracting’.” He reached forward and started sweeping debris from Castiel’s chest, still keeping an eye on that tunnel. Castiel dropped his gaze to watch his hand move.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I would prefer it if you removed the larger stones. These ones aren’t really the problem.”

Dean sat back and sighed. “You see that?” He tilted his head at the mountain of rocks. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to get rid of the whole lot, but if I make one false move there’ll be a landslide. I’m starting small because I have no choice.”

Castiel’s body twitched. A small sound escaped him, something very similar to a groan. “Cas?” Dean asked, worried.

“Could you… could you at least try to dig out my arm?” Castiel suddenly sounded distressed, although he met Dean’s eyes steadily enough. Dean nodded and studied the slab of granite pinning his friend’s right side to the floor, trying to figure out how the hell to move it without knocking into anything dangerous.

“I can try,” he said eventually, and didn’t miss it when Castiel’s eyes closed in relief. “Although I think this rock’s too big for me to budge. I need you to watch for the wendigo, though. Stay awake and alert for the both of us, okay?”

Castiel’s hand tightened around the gun again and he turned his gaze to the tunnel.

Dean studied him for a few moments, starting to get a Very Bad Feeling, but Castiel remained oblivious. He bent over the rocks and began moving away anything that seemed safe. “So why did you follow me into the cave?” he asked after a few minutes, deciding it would be a good idea to keep Castiel talking. “You knew what the sigil was going to do to you. What changed your mind?”

Castiel made an odd noise; it took Dean several seconds to recognize it as a laugh. “I decided that I was being a coward. You’re human and you went into the cave without fear. Why shouldn’t I? I just wish I’d made the decision a little sooner. Maybe this could have been avoided.”

“Who said I went into the cave without fear?” Dean reprimanded him, drawing an inquisitive look. “Of course I was scared, Cas. I’m always scared when I’m hunting. I’d be a fool if I wasn’t. You just learn to live with it. You just have to hope luck’s on your side that day.”

“Luck isn’t a physical presence, Dean.”

“Really? I always heard Luck’s a lady.”

Castiel looked scornful. “Luck doesn’t exist. Luck is merely a way for humans to reconcile the uncertainties of their lives. They imagine it’s a force that can influence events, but there is no such thing. Only God can do that. You shouldn’t believe in luck, Dean. You should have faith instead.”

Dean shoved a rock the size of his head to one side and grunted, “I’ll stick with luck, thanks. It seems to be doing me more good than faith. Although even then it still blows most of the time.”

Castiel was silent for a moment, staring at the tunnel, before saying quietly, “You’re certainly having more luck than I am today.”

Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and turned to look at him. “The minute we get you out of here, you’ll heal, won’t you?”

“Once I’m away from the sigil’s influence, yes.”

“Great. So look at it this way: if you really were human, you’d be dead by now. But you’re not. What’s more, you’re going to make a full recovery. Guaranteed.” He grinned. “If that’s not luck, what is?”

Castiel considered it. “I never took you for a glass half-full kind of guy, Dean.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, well. Saturn must be in conjunction with Jupiter or some shit like that, I dunno. Guess I’m feeling lucky.”

He hefted more rocks off Castiel’s chest, straining at the weight and wondering how the hell anyone could even draw breath under all this crap, then looked at his watch. “Better check in with Sam. Hopefully he’s already hunted down our friendly neighbourhood caveman and there’s a team of guys on the way to help dig you out.”

But his optimism was misplaced. Sam had bad news.

 

~ ~ ~

 

 

 

~ ~ ~


	2. Chapter 2

~ ~ ~

Dean was used to making difficult choices, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He stared at the flare gun and racked his brains to think of any other option, but nothing came. Night was falling, they were stuck in a cavern with a homicidal, hungry wendigo and they only had one battered flashlight between them. Worse, they weren’t going to get rescued any time soon.

The entrance to the cave had collapsed. Sam said it was just gone; obliterated. Their rockfall hadn’t been the only one. Which meant that all three of them were stuck here: human, half-angel and wendigo, and the only way to the outside world was that crack above their heads which wasn’t anywhere near big enough to allow a human through it. Dean stared up at the sunset, thinking hard, but he knew there was only one option available to them. 

He climbed up the rockface, stuck the gun through the hole and fired. He only had one flare; the rest were in his bag, which was under a boulder. Now they had nothing to fight off the wendigo with. 

“We see it!” Sam cried in his ear. “You’re up on the ridge. Looks like about an hour’s walk. Be ready to hear us shouting for you.”

“Bring lights, Sam. Anything that’ll keep us out of the dark. Make sure it’s not more than about a foot wide or it won’t fit through the crack. And we need your flare gun and as many rounds as you’ve got.”

“The Sheriff’s got his men loading a truck – they’ll be here in a couple of hours. You’ll have everything you’ll need to get through the night, don’t worry.”

“Tell ’em to move their asses,” Dean ordered gruffly, staring around the cave. Shadows were forming everywhere. This place was getting a whole lot more dangerous.

“We’ll be there soon,” Sam promised. 

Dean dropped down to the cave floor, almost twisting his ankle on the loose rubble. He climbed over to Castiel and sat down with a sigh, running a scratched and sore hand over his face. “They’re on their way,” he announced.

“They won’t be able to make that hole bigger,” Castiel said softly. “They would need explosives to penetrate the rock. They can’t get to us and we can’t get to them.”

“They can throw down stuff to help me dig you out, though. Crowbars. I don’t know. Anything. Once you’re not being concertinaed we can figure out our next move.”

Castiel tore his eyes away from the tunnel to stare at him. Dean was saddened, but not surprised, to see that he was trembling. It had taken a long time, yes, but shock was finally settling in. As Castiel spoke, he struggled to keep his teeth from chattering. At a loss for what else to do, Dean removed his coat and laid it across what there was of his chest, tucking it in around his shoulders.

“There’s another way we can get out of here,” Castiel said, looking down at the coat and back up at Dean as though he wasn’t quite sure why it had been placed there.

“You got any ideas, I’m all ears, Cas.”

“Sam needs to find the sigil. If he can destroy it, I can… er… ‘zap’ us out.”

Dean pursed his lips. “You said it would be hard to find. How the hell will he know what to look for?”

“It would be a carving, probably a few feet across. And Sam isn’t alone. The Sheriff could organize search teams. It’s a long shot… the sigil is probably hidden beneath undergrowth, and it’s getting dark. But it’s worth a try.”

Dean mused on the idea, but it didn’t take long. What other choice did they have? “You’re right,” he agreed. “I guess at this point we should take what we can get. I’ll call him.” 

He rose to his feet, reaching into his pocket for his cell, but froze when Castiel suddenly hissed, “ _Dean!_ ”

The wendigo was standing at the far end of the tunnel, watching them both. Just the sight of it made Dean’s skin prickle on instinct; it was too tall and skinny to be fully human and even the way it stood was _wrong_ , virtually screaming how unnatural its very existence was. It took a step closer and he raised the flare gun threateningly, aiming it square at the creature’s stomach.

“Did you reload it?” Castiel asked weakly from the ground.

“Don’t have any more flares,” Dean said, stepping forward in an attempt to scare the wendigo away.

“Then what are you doing?”

“ _It_ doesn’t know that,” Dean snapped.

The wendigo tilted its head to the side. It took another step forward.

“Unless it can understand English,” Castiel observed dully.

The wendigo moved again. It stared at the gun and a slow, dangerous smile spread across its misshapen face.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered, his stomach flipping. “Trust us to find the only wendigo in the world with an IQ of 250.”

Something flew through the air and hit the creature slap-bang on the nose. It yelped, jumping backwards in shock, and Dean turned to Castiel just in time to see him throw another fist-sized stone with incredible accuracy. A second direct hit on the face and the wendigo started backing off, nose leaking blood and eyes glaring at them balefully. Realizing that the entire cave was effectively filled with weapons, Dean snagged a rock from the ground and threw it too, watching with immense satisfaction as the wendigo tried to dodge and failed. Another volley from Castiel finally made it turn and lope away, although Dean was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be gone for long. They’d merely taken it by surprise; it would regroup.

“Ever thought of pitching for the Yankees?” Dean said brightly, shooting Castiel a grin. “That’s some throwing arm you’ve got there, dude. Guess you’re a leftie after all.”

Castiel shuddered, flexing his fingers on his chest, but didn’t reply. He was really shaking now, breathing far too heavily for the amount of movement he’d made when throwing the rocks. Concerned, Dean knelt by his side and placed a hand on his neck, checking his pulse. It was strong but way too fast for his liking.

“You’re not doing so good, are you?” he asked gently.

Castiel shook his head, closing his eyes. “I’m getting weaker. I can... I can feel the pain now, Dean. It’s distant, but... it’s there.”

“I’m sorry, man. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Tell Sam to find the sigil. And tell him to hurry.” 

Dean nodded. He dragged a few stones into Castiel’s reach in case the wendigo showed its face again. “Keep watching the tunnel while I make the call, okay? I wish I had the knife. Any idea where it went?”

Castiel darted his eyes around him. “I was holding it when the roof fell, but... I don’t know. It’s somewhere.”

“We’ll manage. Sam will be here soon.” 

He patted Castiel’s shoulder, stood and walked across the cave to climb the rockpile again. He couldn’t stop staring around at the gathering shadows, forcing himself to take deep breaths. This really wasn’t funny now. He wanted out of here, both for Castiel’s sake and his own. 

That wendigo wasn’t going to give up, and Dean knew it.

 

~ ~ ~

 

It was fully dark by the time Sam found them, following the sound of Dean’s voice as he yelled out of the hole in the roof. Dean didn’t even waste time saying hello – he grabbed the flare gun his brother offered him with one hand and the new flashlight with the other, jumping down from the rockpile and barreling over to Castiel’s side. “Here,” he said, shoving the gun into the angel’s hand. “Keep hold of that. Don’t be scared to use it, okay?”

Castiel didn’t speak, but his fingers closed around the trigger. Dean set the flashlight beside his head so the tunnel was as illuminated as possible and scrambled back up the rocks.

“What else you got for me, Sammy?”

Sam’s face peered through the hole. Dean would’ve hugged him if only it had been possible. “Here,” he declared, handing through another flashlight. 

Dean flicked it on and shone it around the cavern, satisfying himself that the wendigo hadn’t snuck in at any point during the last hour. He glanced back up at the hole a few feet above his head and grinned. “Anything else in your sack, Santa?”

Sam’s face disappeared. A canvas bag was lowered through the hole and Dean took it hopefully. “Water, ammo, a blanket, stuff for you to make a fire with,” Sam listed. “Oh, and a walkie-talkie. No point you climbing all the way up here every time we need to speak, and I’m going to be out searching soon.”

“If there’s a burger in there too, you’re the best brother in the world _ever._ ”

Sam grinned. “Maybe later. There are fifty people on the way to help us search for this sigil, and they’ll bring more equipment with them. This was just what the Sheriff had in his car. Oh, which reminds me…” 

He handed a crowbar through the hole. Dean threw it to the floor and looked back up at him. “How the hell is he explaining all this? Dragging all those people out at night to find an ancient carving in the middle of the woods must sound kind of screwy.”

Sam glanced behind him. “Crazy as it sounds, most of the folks round here believe this cave’s cursed. He just told them the truth.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “About the wendigo? Or about the angel currently doing an impression of a pancake?”

“The former. They think if they find and destroy the sigil, the wendigo dies with it. It’s sort of a half-truth inside a real truth.”

“Semantics. I don’t care as long as they break that damn thing.”

Sam tried to peer behind Dean at the cave, but there wasn’t much to see from his angle. “How’s Cas doing?”

Dean glanced over at the rockpile, even though he couldn’t see Castiel very well from up here. “He’s hanging on,” he said simply, but he gave Sam a look that said a lot more.

Sam recognized his meaning instantly, narrowing his eyes. “Want me to ask for some morphine? Does he need it?”

“Probably.”

“Do you need anything else? I want to get this search started.”

“Throw down stuff I can burn. I need to build a fire and the only flammable things down here are our clothes.”

Sam vanished. Dean climbed down to the ground again and collected together the branches Sam threw through the hole, sweeping his flashlight around the gloomy cave as his skin prickled with suspense. The wendigo was bound to come back at some point, but at least he could only approach from one direction. “You still with me, Cas?” he called, hoping his companion was still keeping an eye on the tunnel.

“Where would I go?” Castiel replied testily, but his voice was too weak to carry any kind of real weight.

Dean busied himself with building the fire, sitting back on his knees with a sigh of relief once it was lit. He’d placed it in the entrance to the tunnel so the smoke could rise straight out of the hole in the roof – well, that was the theory, anyway. It was also a perfect obstacle for a creature scared of flames. For the first time in hours, Dean felt safe. Well, _safer._

Wiping his hands, he picked up the pack and made his way over to Castiel. The angel’s eyes were drooping and he didn’t react as Dean knelt beside him, noticing that his fingers were slack around the handle of the flare gun. “Hey,” Dean nudged, picking up the weapon himself. “How’s the pain?”

“Present,” Castiel muttered.

“Sam’s getting you some medication so you won’t feel it any more.”

Castiel’s lips twitched. “Could he get it… _ah_ … faster?”

“It’ll be here soon. Just hold on.”

Castiel closed his eyes and fell silent. Dean took the opportunity to examine the large rock lying flat across his side, wondering if he could move it now he had the crowbar. To his relief, it looked achievable. It wouldn’t relieve much of the pain – especially considering the fact that Castiel had so much rock piled on his lower half – but it was a good start.

“I’m going to try to lever this one off you,” he informed him, brandishing the crowbar.

Castiel’s eyes snapped open. He looked down at the slab on his side and shivered. “Good. It… hurts quite considerably.”

“You’ve probably smashed up your ribs and your arm. I gotta warn you, though – with the pressure gone, you might be able to feel them more. But at least you’ll get your bloodflow back.” Or so he hoped. Dean wasn’t an expert on crush injuries, but he was heartened by the thought that the damage to Castiel’s right side was nowhere near as bad as the damage to his legs. The rock was big but it wasn’t devastating. And he couldn’t see blood anywhere, so that was a good sign.

“Do it,” Castiel told him, biting his lip and closing his eyes.

Dean slotted the crowbar under the rock. “I’ll do it on three,” he warned. “One, two…”

The rock toppled backwards so easily it was almost funny. What lay underneath it, however, wasn’t funny at all. Castiel somehow managed to stifle a cry at the movement before lying deathly still, breathing hard. As soon as he was able to raise his head and look down at his side, he gasped in a mixture of pain and shock.

“Guess we know where the knife went, then,” Dean grunted, appalled. “Dude, first rule of hunting: when you fall over, don’t land on your blade.”

“You think this is _funny?_ ” Castiel snapped. He reached out his good hand to yank the knife out of his body but Dean grabbed his wrist, pulling him away gently. “It hurts,” Castiel protested, almost snarling.

“I know it hurts, man, but you gotta leave it there.”

Castiel’s eyes widened in fury. “Get it out of me,” he demanded, voice a hoarse, pain-filled growl.

Dean shook his head. “Right now, that blade’s the only thing keeping you from bleeding to death. That’s a serious injury, Cas, and there’s no way I can fix it. We pull out the knife and you’re going to lose every pint in your body. It’s got to stay.”

Castiel looked back down at his side. His arm was twisted under his back, probably in pieces for all Dean knew, but the knife was the biggest issue here. Thanks to the weight of the rock it had been shoved into his gut with such force that only about a centimeter of its hilt was showing. That was one scary wound, and only the fact Castiel still had a small proportion of his angelic powers meant that he was even conscious to look at it.

“I think I preferred it before you removed the rock,” Castiel said eventually, his head falling back onto the ground with a soft _thunk._

“Ignorance is bliss,” Dean murmured, studying the injury. Then it occurred to him that they hadn’t been keeping an eye on the tunnel and he turned to look, but the fire was still burning high and the wendigo was nowhere in sight. Dammit. It wasn’t as though they didn’t have enough to worry about without the risk of dismemberment at any moment. 

Castiel was really shaking now. Dean pulled a blanket out of the pack, unrolled it and placed it on top of his dusty coat. “Here, this’ll help you keep warm.”

“Why… is the c-cave so cold?”

“It’s not the cave, it’s you. You’re in shock.”

Castiel’s gaze met his eyes. “This body is t-trying to generate heat by shaking.”

“That’s it, doc. You’re cold because you’re injured.”

“It’s very unpleasant. I d-don’t like the sensation of my teeth vibrating.”

Dean sighed. “If I were you, I’d concentrate on feeling them vibrating and try to forget about everything else.”

Castiel’s eyes swept around the cave before coming back to rest on Dean’s face. “Why d-did you want to be a lumberjack?”

The question was so unexpected that Dean boggled at him before replying, “Er… what?”

“Outside, before we c-came in here, you said you’d always wanted to be a lumberjack.” Castiel shuddered and frowned. “It’s not a profession I would ever have imagined you enjoying.”

Dean rubbed his hand over his face. At any other time he would have laughed, but he didn’t feel much like it right now. “I didn’t really want to be a lumberjack, Cas. I was quoting some stupid song from an old TV show.”

“Oh. Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Litter your conversation with references to popular c-culture? I have trouble understanding you at times. It’s aggravating.”

Dean realized, belatedly, that Castiel was talking to take his mind off how he was feeling. It was a curiously human thing to do and, with that, strangely endearing. “It’s just what I do,” he told him, forcing a smile. “It’s what a lot of us do. It’s like, uh, some kind of way of talking in code. If you’re a Monty Python fan, you know the _Lumberjack Song_. If I’m quoting _Die Hard_ , you know I’m imagining that I’m Bruce Willis. It’s a shared language.”

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, grimacing, before opening them again. “I don’t share your language, though. Why d-do you use these terms around me? It makes me f-feel… excluded.”

“That’s not how I mean it, Cas. I just do it because it’s a habit.”

“Well, don’t,” Castiel said flatly, and this time he closed his eyes and kept them that way. 

“Sam’ll have some drugs for you soon,” Dean promised, lowering his voice soothingly. “Just keep thinking about that.”

But Castiel didn’t reply. His forehead furrowed and he shivered violently, teeth chattering loud enough for Dean to hear. He was scratched-up and filthy, fighting injuries that would’ve killed an ordinary man in the space of a heartbeat, and yet somehow he managed to look pissed even with his eyes closed. _That’s some skill you got there,_ Dean thought wryly, turning to stare at the tunnel again. _Keep it up, Cas. That way I know you’re still with me._

 

~ ~ ~

 

Sam kept in touch over the next few hours using the walkie-talkie, although there wasn’t much to say. He was looking for the sigil, as were several dozen of the Sheriff’s men, but the guys who were bringing medical supplies hadn’t reached the mountain yet. Dean gnashed his teeth with impatience as he waited, staring blankly at the firelit tunnel in case the wendigo showed its ugly-ass head. He was half-tempted to go looking for it, just to finish it once and for all, but he couldn’t leave Castiel. 

Not that there was much he could do to help him anyway, of course, and with every minute that passed the angel’s condition deteriorated. He seemed to be unconscious but he kept moaning, low, wretched and deep, as though the pain was seeping through his dreams and allowing him no escape. Occasionally Castiel’s eyes would flicker open and he’d stare around him without recognition, but he’d always close them again before he focused on anything. Then the moaning would start again, each sound signaling that he was growing more and more human. The weaker he got, the more the sigil affected him.

It was starting to get to Dean, too, but in a different way. He knew all about pain and how to cope with it – or not cope with it, as the case may be – but watching someone else suffer was _hard._ When that someone else was a creature you were used to thinking was invincible… well, it made it even worse. He’d seen Castiel hurt before, of course, but it had never been as bad as this. Dean was really starting to worry that if the sigil wasn’t found and destroyed soon, Castiel wasn’t going to make it. The body he was inhabiting was smashed to pieces; the only reason he hadn’t bled out from his leg wounds was because the weight of the rocks was no doubt preventing it. As if that wasn’t enough, he had what was probably a fatal knife wound in his gut. It was only a matter of time before the angel part of him faded enough to let the human part take over… and the human part was a _mess_. 

“Dean!”

Dean jumped at the sudden cry, his heart leaping. “Sam? Did you find it?” He struggled to his feet and moved to stand beneath the hole. 

“Not yet. Everybody’s here now, though, so the odds are looking good. There’s a lot of people combing this forest.”

“You need to ramp it up, man.” Dean glanced across the cave, turned back to his brother and added softly, “Cas is in trouble. That thing’s killing him.”

Sam’s face creased with worry. “I brought this.” He tossed a small box through the hole; Dean caught it one-handed and opened it. Inside were several vials of morphine and some syringes. 

“You remembered this, but you didn’t bring me a burger?” he mock-pouted.

Sam ignored him. “I had no idea how much he’d need, so you’ve got the lot. Don’t overdo it though. If he’s pushing human, you don’t want him to OD.”

_Would probably be more fun than the way he’s going out now,_ Dean thought bitterly. “I’ll be careful,” he nodded. “Look, get your ass out there and search. There’s nothing else you can do for us. I’ll call you if I need anything else.”

Sam disappeared. Dean made a quick inspection of the cavern – still no wendigo – and clambered over the rubble to reach Castiel’s side. He filled a syringe, pulled a cold, clammy arm out from under the blanket and injected the morphine smoothly, which was kind of a miracle seeing as how his hands were shaking. He was tired and his system had been pumping out adrenaline for so many hours he was starting to run out; he wasn’t looking forward to trying to stay awake for the rest of the night.

“W-what was that?” Castiel grunted, surprising him. His eyes weren’t open, so Dean had assumed he was still unconscious.

“It’s morphine, Cas,” he told him matter-of-factly.

Castiel opened his eyes, staring up at the roof of the cave in dazed puzzlement. “I d-don’t know that word.”

“It’ll take the pain away. It’s pretty strong. Just go with it and try to rest, okay?”

Castiel was silent for a few minutes, still staring up at nothing. Dean put away the syringe and moved so that he could see the tunnel, wincing as rubble dug into his knees for the millionth time. Should’ve asked his brother for some cushions.

“I feel very strange,” Castiel admitted after a while, rubbing at his forehead with shaking fingers.

“Considering you’re a regular Dr Strange every minute of the day, Cas, that’s really saying something.”

Castiel dropped his hand and frowned. “The pain... is growing more distant. It’s... fascinating.”

“Oh yeah, pharmaceuticals are our friend.” Dean placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezed. “Try to sleep, okay? This’ll last a few hours. Hopefully those guys will find the sigil by the time you wake up.” 

“I think my eyes are broken,” Castiel said.

Dean peered over him, worried, but they looked fine. Red and sore from all the dust, but fine. “In what way?” 

Castiel stared past him, pupils astonishingly wide and dark in the firelight. “The walls are sliding downwards,” he explained, looking more than a little freaked. “And yet I can’t hear it and you do not seem concerned, so clearly it isn’t really happening. Which means my eyes are impaired in some way.”

Dean quirked a grin. “It’s not your eyes, Cas. It’s your brain. Morphine can make you hallucinate. You’re okay. Just... roll with it.”

“Roll with it,” Castiel repeated absently. He stared around him for a few moments and then squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t like it.”

“Cas? I get that you’re feeling crappy and all, but you really need to stop whining like a little girl.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped open again. “I am _not_ a little girl.”

“You were once,” Dean informed him smugly. “Guess she rubbed off on you.”

Castiel sniffed and raised a hand to rub his forehead again, dislodging the blanket. Dean waited until he’d finished and tucked it back in around him, feeling vaguely nurse-like and weird. If this had been Sam he’d have been holding his hand by now, but he felt awkward getting touchy-feely around Castiel. He was sick, hurt and in pain, but Dean still couldn’t quite drop the barriers he’d put up around himself. Castiel was an angel, something different and bizarre, and even after all this time Dean couldn’t quite see past it.

“This is tedious,” said Castiel. The irritation in his voice was almost funny.

“I ain’t arguing with you there,” Dean agreed, shining his flashlight around the cave in a routine sweep for trouble.

Castiel coughed slightly and wrinkled his nose. “I don’t foresee myself surviving until the morning.”

Dean dropped the flashlight to his friend’s face in surprise, almost dazzling him until he pointed it away. “Wow. Way to look on the bright side, Cas.”

“I’m just stating an inevitability. I’m very badly injured. I’ve already survived longer than I should in this situation.” Castiel didn’t sound perturbed at all. Perhaps it was the morphine, or perhaps it was just his usual ‘I have no fear of death’ attitude. Either way, it made the hairs on Dean’s neck rise up.

“Don’t you go saying stuff like that, you hear me? You’re gonna be fine. We’ll break that sigil and you’ll beam us out of here and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

Castiel stared up at him in confusion. “You have no way of knowing that will be the case.”

“Yes, I do. You’ll be fine, Cas.”

“Is this faith?” Castiel asked him, sounding hopeful.

Dean sighed. “It’s... I don’t know what it is. It’s hope, I guess. And luck. I know how much you like luck.”

“But you stated it like a fact. Which makes it a lie.”

“You’re very cranky when you’re caught between a rock and a hard place, aren’t you?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Why are you lying about what will happen? I don’t understand. Humans lie so much. I can’t always determine the reason.”

“It’s to make you feel better, Cas. Come on, isn’t it obvious?”

“Oh.” Castiel seemed to consider it. “So you telling me everything is going to be okay is just your way of keeping me calm, even though it has no basis in fact and you are deliberately deceiving me.”

“Yes. Although apparently it just makes you pedantic instead.”

“Lying is confusing,” Castiel announced, sounding frustrated. “I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of it.”

“You called us once and pretended to be Bobby to send us on a hunt. I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

“That wasn’t lying. That was...” Castiel stopped. “Am I floating?”

Dean couldn’t help but smile at that one. “No, Cas. You’re not floating.”

“It feels as though I’m floating.”

“Your butt’s definitely flat on the ground, man.”

“I’m floating,” Castiel said decisively, as though that was the end of the matter.

“See any pink elephants while you’re up there?” Dean queried, crossing his legs uncomfortably.

Castiel shot him a curious look. “There are pink elephants in this cave?”

“Millions,” Dean returned, deadpan.

Castiel blinked. “Uh-huh.”

He fell silent after that, riding a wave of morphine, and Dean could only sit and keep watch for the wendigo. He kept staring at his walkie-talkie, willing it to crackle into life, but the search of the forest just went on and on. Dean knew how difficult it had to be to uncover a carving in such a large area – there could be trees growing over it, undergrowth, rocks... It was a huge undertaking. It could take days. Days Castiel didn’t have.

“You’re very pretty,” came a soft voice.

Dean glanced down at Castiel in shock. “I’m what?”

“Pretty.” Castiel smiled. His eyes looked so dazed it was clear he was only marginally aware of what he was saying right now.

Dean cleared his throat. “You know, Cas, I think you’ll find that when it comes to discussing male looks, we prefer the word ‘handsome’ to ‘pretty’.”

“What’s wrong with pr... pr...” Castiel licked his lips and tried again, “pretty?”

“It’s a little, uh, feminine.”

“A descriptive word signifying beauty should not be constrained by such things,” Castiel declared rather haughtily.

“You’re really weird. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“And you are pretty.”

“Okay, I’m pretty. Will you get some sleep now?”

“Sam’s pretty too, but you’re prettier,” Castiel mused, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown as though he was thinking about it extremely hard. “Your family has very pleasing genes.”

“Is that right?” Dean couldn’t help but smile. Castiel was kind of funny like this.

“I have been observing humans for a very long time,” the angel declared grandiously, “and I believe you’re my favorite.”

Dean hid a smile behind his hand. “Good to know. I guess you’re my favorite angel, too.”

Castiel made a scornful face. “All the other angels have tried to kill you. That doesn’t mean _anything_.”

“Hey, I liked Anna too, up until she turned into a Sam-killing psycho. And I like you more than her.” 

“I liked her too,” Castiel said quietly, his expression softening.

Dean studied him curiously. “Did you two... did you have a thing?”

Castiel blinked up at him. “What thing?”

“Did you like her? You know, _like_ like?”

When the realization hit, Castiel looked so shocked Dean almost laughed out loud. “No!” he huffed, scandalized. “She was my superior!”

“So? You might not have acted on it, but you could’ve admired her from afar.”

“I admired her from nearby,” Castiel corrected, “but we didn’t have a... ‘thing’.”

“No secret smooches behind your wings?” Dean teased.

“You kissed her, not me,” Castiel said with surprising bitterness. 

_That’s not all I did,_ Dean thought, but kept his mouth shut. “Maybe you should’ve made a move on her,” he said, poking Castiel gently on the arm. “Y’know, before everything went all to Hell.”

“I’ve never made a move.” Castiel flicked his gaze up to the ceiling. “I’ve never even kissed anyone.”

Dean sighed sympathetically. “You really haven’t been living your life, Cas. Minute we get outta this hell-hole I’m taking you to another den of iniquity.”

Castiel huffed. “I don’t want to do that.”

“What are you, scared?”

“Yes.” 

Dean raised his eyebrows, shocked. “Really? Come on, Cas, I’ve seen you face off with archangels and one little whorehouse scares you?”

Castiel gave Dean a look that was disarmingly open for once. “Intimacy is scary. I have been alone for longer than you would care to know. Letting someone in…” He tried to shrug, but the movement made him wince and hiss in pain.

Dean studied him sadly. “Is that just another way of saying that you’re waiting for the right person to come along?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that your attempt to debauch me made me uncomfortable.”

“Debauch you? You use the _best_ words.”

“I’m dying, Dean,” Castiel said suddenly. “This body is broken and I don’t have much time left. I would prefer it if you didn’t mock me.”

Dean reached out and, fear of touchy-feeliness be damned, wrapped his fingers around Castiel’s free hand. “I’m not mocking you, Cas. And you’re not dying.”

Castiel smiled, just a little. “Liar.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular Pinocchio.” Then, realizing what he’d just done, he elaborated, “He’s this wooden puppet from a kids’ story who lies all the time.”

“I know who Pinocchio is.” Castiel squeezed his hand and shuddered, eyelids flickering a little. “I think the morphine is wearing off, D-Dean. I can feel my legs again.” His breath hitched in his throat and he added tightly, “What’s left of them.”

Dean nodded, pulling his hand free so he could give him another injection. It stood to reason that the drug wouldn’t last as long on an angel as it would on an ordinary human, but he hadn’t expected it to wear off so soon. Or so violently; even as he scrabbled in the box for another vial, Castiel’s eyes rolled and a low, rumbling moan left his chest. “Dean,” he gasped. “ _Please._ ”

“It’s okay, I’m on it,” Dean reassured him, holding up the vial to the firelight…

…to find his view blocked by a pair of naked, pale, leathery legs. Dean had just enough time to think _fuck_ before the wendigo’s fist cracked into his jaw and sent him flying into a boulder. His forehead connected with the rock and a shower of sparks exploded in his head; he fell to the ground in a useless, stunned heap.

“Dean!” yelled Castiel somewhere behind him, and Dean forced his eyes open just as the wendigo grabbed him around the throat and yanked him into the air. He choked and spluttered, desperately trying to unpeel the creature’s fingers from his windpipe, and then something hot and noisy hit the rock beside them and erupted into a flare of light that almost blinded him. Castiel had fired a flare, but he’d missed. It didn’t even make the wendigo flinch: it tightened its grip around Dean’s throat until he saw stars.

The other flare gun was in his back pocket. Frantically, Dean managed to tug the gun out of his pants and pressed it against the wendigo’s chest – but he couldn’t fire it. He was too close. He’d burn his own face off. 

Thankfully, the creature didn’t know that. It dropped him with a hiss and reached down to grab the gun, but Dean was two steps ahead of it. He raised a foot and kicked it in the stomach, sending it staggering backwards a few feet, and then he fired.

The impact sent the creature in the worst direction possible: straight into the mound of rocks lying on Castiel’s legs. It hit back-first and screamed in agony as fire consumed it, flailing madly in its death throes. The movement sent the already precarious stack of stone into freefall and it collapsed in on itself, rocks flying in every direction. Acting purely on instinct, Dean leapt forward and threw himself over Castiel’s body, yelping as stones hit his back and shoulders before choking on the dust. It took what seemed like forever for the movement to stop. By the time Dean looked up again, the cave was filled with dust and smoke and smelt like something really, really unpleasant had been barbecued with a side-order of earth.

He leant back and looked down at Castiel. His head and neck were uncovered but a fine covering of rubble had coated his chest, along with some larger stones and rocks that would have bruised like hell as they’d hit. There was barely a rock that was in the same place as it had been a few minutes ago: it was a miracle, again, that Castiel hadn’t been completely flattened.

He hadn’t escaped unscathed, though. His eyes were round and huge and his mouth hung open as he struggled to breathe around the pain; Dean had seen that look before on people and knew how bad it had to be. “Cas?” he cried, patting his cheek, but the only response he got was a blink. “Fuck. Look, keep breathing, okay? Don’t you give up on me, Cas. You hear me? _Keep breathing._ ” 

His reply was another blink. Helpless, Dean started to clear as much of the debris off his friend’s chest as he could, shooting glances downwards at the shifted pile of rocks. They’d moved to such a degree that Castiel’s legs must have moved, too. Maybe he was bleeding out; there was no way of knowing. Whatever had happened, he’d certainly felt it.

The wendigo’s burned corpse lay a few feet away. Dean didn’t have any hatred left to spare for it.

“D-Dean,” Castiel gasped, and Dean threw the rock in his hands to one side and turned back to him.

“I’m here. I’m here, Cas.”

“Get me out,” Castiel whispered, shaking like a leaf. His eyes were wild with pain.

“I’m trying, Cas, honest. Just hang on in there.”

“Get me… out,” he repeated, a sob interrupting the words. “Get me out. Get me _out!_ ”

Dean dug frantically, tearing his hands to shreds, but he didn’t care. He had no idea where the morphine had gone – probably pulverized under rubble – so that wasn’t an option any more. He had to get as much of this crap off Castiel as he could because there was nothing else he could do. Castiel’s pleas for freedom soon dissolved into heart-rending, frantic groans of agony, spurring Dean onwards, but even as he worked he knew there was nothing he could do about his legs. They were still buried under far too many boulders and rocks; from the waist down, Castiel was held fast.

“ _Ugh,_ get me out,” Castiel begged again, his voice breaking. Dean sat back, realizing he’d uncovered as much of him as he could, and picked up a limp, bloodied hand. He wrapped it in both his palms and leaned over Castiel’s face.

“I’ve done all I can do,” he told him steadily. “Just hold on until Sam finds that sigil. That’s all there is now.”

Castiel’s teeth were chattering and his breath was coming in short, jerky gasps. His eyes were wet with tears and seemed to have a lot of trouble focusing on him. As Dean studied his face, a droplet of blood hit Castiel’s cheek and rolled down to his ear. Dean stared at it in puzzlement until he realized it had fallen from his own forehead. He couldn’t even feel the wound; Castiel wasn’t the only one in shock here.

“I c-can’t,” Castiel moaned, fingers curling in Dean’s grip.

“Yes you can, Cas. You’re not going to let this defeat you. Keep fighting, you son of a bitch. You hear me?”

“My legs…” Castiel coughed, face creasing in agony at the movement. “Ah, ah, the _pain…_ ”

The walkie-talkie suddenly flared into life a few feet away. _“Dean? Dean, are you there?”_

Dean pounced on it like a cat with a mouse. “Sam? For the love of God, please tell me you found it.”

_“We found it. One of the guys said he remembered playing here as a kid and he always thought it was some kind of native American carving. It was hidden behind a cedar tree but we’ve just dug it out.”_

Dean bowed his head in relief. “Thank fuck for that. Now get to work destroying it, okay? Things are really bad down here, Sam. Cas doesn’t have long.”

“Wait,” came a weak voice from behind him. “I n-need to s-see the sigil.”

Dean turned to look at Castiel, who stared at him earnestly. “Sam? Hold that. Cas needs to inspect it. Can you send me a picture of it?”

_“Roger that. I’ll do it now.”_

Despite everything, Dean had to grin. “Did you just say ‘roger’? Thanks, GI Joe.”

_“Ten-four. And you’re totally GI Jane. Over and out.”_

Dean put the walkie-talkie down and dug his phone out of his pocket. He climbed the rockpile by the hole in the roof until the signal was as strong as he could get it, then waited. After a couple of minutes it beeped. He stared at the sigil thoughtfully as he made his way back to Castiel.

“It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” he said, holding the picture in front of the angel for inspection.

Castiel raised a bloody hand and brought the phone nearer. To Dean’s surprise, his face fell and he looked upset for a few moments, but he controlled his expression and gave the phone back without a word.

“Do you recognize it?”

“Yes. It c-can be destroyed. They’ll have to drill the carvings until they’re completely d-defaced.”

“The whole lot? It doesn’t break if you just do one?”

“Everything.”

Dean whistled. “That’s gonna take a while. It’s huge.”

“I know,” said Castiel, shuddering. “ _Oh…_ This is… this is... oh…”

Dean studied him for a few moments, hating to see him in so much pain but also, bizarrely, suspicious. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s not the sigil I was h-hoping it would b-be.”

“Why’s this one different?”

“It will take longer to b-break.” He moaned, sounding utterly miserable. “It’s going to hurt.”

Dean sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two bloody fingers. “Hurt how, Cas?”

“P-picture this cave as a bell,” Castiel said, struggling to get the words out. “The sigil is on the outside of it. If you drill into it, the b-bell will vibrate.”

“Okay, so they’re gonna ring the bell,” Dean nodded, thinking hard. “Are you saying our ears are going to bust?”

“You’re being too literal. They’re not… physical vibrations. They’re mystical. And they’ll only affect me.”

“So you’re saying that once the guys up there start drilling into the sigil, you’ll feel it?”

“Yes.” Castiel’s gaze flicked up to him, sad and pain-filled. “Dean, they will be immensely powerful. I’m not sure I’ll be able to s-survive.”

Dean sat back on his heels, horrified. “You’re shitting me, Cas. Are you telling me that after all of this, after _everything_ , you’re still doomed? I’m not buying that!”

“I’m too weak,” Castiel mumbled, grimacing. “Dean, you can’t f-feel what I’m feeling… I’m in so much… p-pain… I might not be able to handle any more.”

“Then what’s the alternative? I just sit here and watch you die under these rocks?”

Castiel frowned. “I d-didn’t say we shouldn’t do it. I d-don’t want to die here, either. I’m just saying it could…” He had to stop and draw in a huge breath, overcome, “kill me. It’s old, though. You could see how worn it was. Perhaps it won’t be so… powerful.”

_It was still powerful enough to do this to you,_ Dean thought bitterly. He dropped his head, rubbing at his temples, wincing when his fingers found the gash from earlier when he’d hit the rock.

“It’s your call, Cas,” he said eventually. “It seems to me that you’re definitely gonna die if you stay here, as opposed to _maybe_ dying when we break the sigil. So either way you could be screwed. It’s your choice to make.”

Castiel didn’t hesitate. “S-sigil,” he gulped, and looked so defiant underneath all the layers of dirt and blood coating his face that Dean couldn’t help but smile at him.

“You’re one tough cookie, you know that?”

“Is that a… quote from something?”

“No, just the truth.” He took Castiel’s hand and entwined their fingers. “I’m here for you, okay? Whatever happens, you’re not alone.”

Castiel stared at his hand with an expression Dean couldn’t read. “Not alone,” he murmured, before flinching as another burst of pain apparently hit him.

“Sam? You there?” 

The walkie-talkie spat static for a short while before his brother answered. _“What’s the verdict?”_

“You have to drill every line until they’re gone. Obliterate them. The thing is, you’ve gotta do it as quick as you can. Apparently it’s gonna hurt Cas.”

_“Crap. Hurt him how?”_

“He’s pickin’ up bad vibrations. It’s serious, Sammy. The faster you do this, the more chance he’s got.”

_“We’ve got two drills here. We’ll do our best.”_

“Keep listening for me, okay? I might have to tell you to stop so he can rest for a while.”

_“Will do. Uh, Dean? Wish him luck from me.”_

Dean lowered the walkie-talkie. “Sam says ‘good luck’.”

Castiel shifted, licking his lips. “I wish I believed in it. I suppose it would be a comfort.”

“I can tell you everything’s gonna be alright if you want.”

Castiel stared at him intently, weariness written all over his face. “I think I would like that.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but before the words formed on his tongue he came up with a better option. Smiling gently, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against his friend’s mouth, holding them there for a few seconds before moving back. “For luck,” he said. “And hey – at least you’ve been kissed now.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said softly, looking not a little emotional. Dean squeezed his hand and they waited in silence for the drilling to begin.

“Uh, Cas?” Dean said hurriedly.

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell Sam I did that.”

When it started, Dean could hear it through the hole in the roof – first one drill, then the other. He glanced up at the faint stripe of stars and back down at Castiel, who was staring up at him in obvious fear. “I can feel it,” he choked. “I can feel it, Dean. I can… ah… oh, _no_ …”

It happened so quickly that Dean almost fell backwards in shock. Castiel screamed and arched off the floor as far as the rocks pinioning him in place would allow. He thrashed and spasmed, screaming so hideously that it echoed around the cave like a banshee’s howl, and the hand in Dean’s grip dug fingernails so hard into his palm that he almost screamed himself. It went on and on and there was nothing Dean could do about it; he tried holding Castiel down with his free hand but it was like he’d been electrified, bucking and jerking beneath him in total, abject agony. The knife-wound in his side started pouring blood as the blade moved and tore inside him, but Dean couldn’t worry about that now: all he could think was that Castiel was going to die before his eyes. He prayed that he wouldn’t. He wasn’t really sure what he believed these days but he prayed anyway, whether it was to God or Luck, it didn’t matter. He didn’t want Castiel to die like this.

He watched impotently until he couldn’t take it any more, then picked up the walkie-talkie and called his brother. “Stop it, Sam,” he said dully. “He needs a time-out.”

The drilling stopped. Castiel flattened on the floor again, his eyes rolled back up in their sockets, completely unresponsive to Dean’s attempts to rouse him. He had to unpeel Castiel’s fingers to get his hand back, shaking it in pain, but the angel remained oblivious. He wasn’t even trembling. He was barely breathing. Dean placed a hand on his neck and his pulse was like nothing he’d ever felt before.

“You can do this, Cas,” he murmured, wiping hair off his forehead. “Just hang on in there for a few more minutes.”

There was no response. In the light from the fire and the flashlights he looked chalk-white, though it was hard to know for sure beneath all the grime. Dean watched blood start to pool on the ground from the knifewound and drew in a ragged, grief-stricken breath.

“Okay, you can start up again,” he told his brother.

Castiel’s screams were hoarser this time. Dean kept talking to him, telling him everything was going to be fine, lying to him. He might as well have not been there. Castiel was suffering alone, as alone as he said he’d been all his life, and Dean could only watch in horror and wish he could change it. He didn’t want Castiel to be alone. Nobody should have to be alone, and he decided recklessly that if he got through this, Castiel would never be alone ever again.

_“We’re almost done,”_ Sam declared. _“How’s he doing?”_

“Just hurry, Sam. Get it done.”

Castiel stopped thrashing, falling flat on the ground with a gasp. He tilted his head back and moaned over and over, arching his neck as the groans poured out of it. He looked as though he was reaching the end; now it was just a question of which would die first, the sigil or him. Helpless, Dean leaned over him, placing a firm hand on his neck to keep him steady.

“You’re nearly there, Cas, you’re nearly through it. Don’t give up yet, man. Fight it. You can do it. I know you can.”

To his surprise, Castiel seemed aware enough to focus on his face. A hand fell on the top of Dean’s and held it there, hard against his neck. Dean could feel Castiel’s heartbeat slowing down dangerously against his palm, so he _willed_ it to go faster. “You’re gonna be okay,” he soothed, as Castiel shuddered and bit back a whimper. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

And then it was as though a ripple swept through the cave. Dean’s ears popped painfully and he jammed his hands over them, shocked, before staring back down at Castiel in amazement. He was glowing. It got brighter and brighter until Dean had to slam his eyes closed; then there was a sickening lurch and he found himself on his hands and knees somewhere else, somewhere _outside_. He was so stunned by the suddenness of it all that it didn’t even occur to him that the sigil had broken until he looked up and saw Castiel.

He was standing in the moonlight surrounded by trees; they were in a clearing somewhere indeterminable. Dean sat back on his knees and looked the angel up and down: he was a mess, coated in blood, clothes ripped to pieces and coat hanging in shreds off his back. He was still dirty and wrecked but his eyes were bright and he was smiling.

“It worked,” Dean gasped, staggering to his feet. “Are you okay?”

“I feel fine,” Castiel said, and it wasn’t until he heard the words that Dean realized quite how terrible he’d been sounding for the last few hours. His voice was normal again, and it sounded good.

“They did it,” Dean said, breathing heavily. “They broke the sigil and you’re out.” He grinned, full-on and ear-to-ear, as the realization finally hit home. “Oh my God, Cas, we’re out!”

He was moving before he knew it and Castiel was in his arms in a bear hug to end all bear hugs a moment later. The hug wasn’t returned at first but, after an awkward minute, hands finally stole around his back and held him close with a tangible degree of uncertainty. Dean couldn’t stop smiling as he buried his face in Castiel’s neck and reveled in how _not dead_ he was. 

“I am very relieved,” Castiel said in his ear, the low rumble of his voice making Dean laugh. He pulled back and was heartened to see the angel was smiling too.

“I think in a situation like this you can use a better word than ‘relieved’, Cas,” Dean informed him happily.

“I shall endeavour to think of one.”

Dean took another step back and scanned him. “You sure you’re okay? No bumps or bruises? Nothing?”

Castiel looked down at his body and back up at Dean. “As good as new. I am weary, however. I need to rest.”

“We’ll get you a suite in the most expensive hotel in the state,” Dean promised, patting Castiel’s arm.

“That won’t be necessary, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Didn’t I tell you everything was going to be okay?”

Castiel studied him with something Dean could have sworn was affection. “Yes. You’re a very good liar, Dean.”

“Damn straight I’m a good liar, Cas. You can always count on me to do a little lying when the odds are against us.”

Castiel’s eyes fell to Dean’s mouth. He stepped forward, placing a hand under his chin to tilt his head upwards. “What’re you doing?” Dean asked, bewildered.

“Returning your good luck,” said Castiel, and kissed him. 

Dean gasped, surprised, accidentally pulling in Castiel’s breath with his lungs. There were a few seconds of _wow, is this really happening?_ before he kissed back twice as hard, surging forward until their bodies were flush with each other. Castiel’s hand trailed through the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck and Dean placed his palm on the angel’s neck in return, mimicking what he’d done back in the cave. This time his pulse was slow and steady, full of life and promise.

“I think you returned a lot more luck than I gave you,” Dean said when they eventually parted. The kiss had been significantly longer this time round.

Castiel brushed Dean’s cheek with his thumb and smiled. “Must be your lucky day,” he said.

 

~ ~ ~


End file.
